


What can I do if the fire goes out?

by highestkingbambi



Series: The Welters Challenge 2018 [4]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Canon abuse is alluded to but not explicitly mentioned, Gen, Introspection, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 14:02:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15244968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highestkingbambi/pseuds/highestkingbambi
Summary: April 1942. Martin Chatwin is ready to give up. Fillory won’t take him back and his home is hell.





	What can I do if the fire goes out?

**Author's Note:**

> For the Welters Challenge, theme Black Out. 
> 
> Title is taken from the Gang of Youths song by the same name, though I was also heavily inspired by Viðrar vel til loftárása by Sigur Rós 
> 
> This fic is based purely on the show, and I am aware that the relationships are different in the books, but this worked for the story.

Not a cloud in the sky, it was a perfect April morning. The air was crisp and dry; ideal for wandering around town without a plan. It was so perfect in fact, that one could almost forget the constant danger of Nazi bombing raids. Almost. 

Hands in his pockets, head bowed, Martin Chatwin stared at the toe caps of his shoes as they pressed upon the cobblestones. He aimed the worn brown leather to land in the middle of each stone and counted each step. The repetition helped to ease his mind. It helped him forget what awaited him back at the Plover estate. 

He had come into town with his twin sister Jane, but she insisted they separate to purchase each other’s birthday presents. They had been separating more often these days; ever since Ember and Umber stopped letting him into Fillory. It didn’t seem to bother her. Not like it bothered him. 

Martin didn’t know what to buy Jane for their birthday. He couldn’t think of a single present that could possibly compare to Fillory. Knowing his luck, she would be whisked away and miss the day completely. What point was there to even buy her a gift?

Giving up, he returned to counting steps. “One, one-thousand, two, two-thousand, three-“ He was stopped prematurely by the wailing of an air-raid siren. The noise blared out from above and Martin looked up to see tiny dots in the sky. 

All around him people scrambled to get inside. A handful of stores had basements, and they filled up quickly as panic gripped the residents of the town. 

Still, Martin stayed in the middle of the street. It wasn’t shock or fear that kept him frozen. The dots flew closer and closer to where he stood, gradually taking the shape of Junkers JU188 bombers that screamed certain death. Martin prayed it was true. He hoped they would come close enough to drop their bombs and he would never have to return to the Plover estate or watch his twin sister abandon him again. 

“What the bloody hell are you doing, boy?” A gruff voice spoke and scooped his thin frame up and threw him over a strange shoulder. Martin hated being so frail, so easy to be manipulated. Whisked inside, he found himself quickly shoved down stairs, before the stranger followed and pulled a trap door over them. 

The basement was pitch black. Nothing visible, not even the white linen of his shirt sleeves. Martin fumbled around in the darkness and found a wall to lean against. He pulled his knees to his chest and silently cursed the Good Samaritan that naively saved his life. He was hardly worth saving. 

Tiny, muffled cries came out from somewhere near him in the darkness. A soothing motherly tone cooed until the cries stopped. Inside the basement, there was more than just him and the man that saved him. 

Martin stopped cursing for a moment and listened to the noises around him. Someone struggled with short, anxious breaths on his left. On his right a girl counted between each inhale and exhale, tapping her shoe with each count. 

She reminded him of his sister. His twin sister whom he loved more than anyone else on this world or any other. Perhaps she wouldn’t be so flippant about leaving him behind if she knew what was happening. Not that he could tell her. Jane was always so stubborn, she would try to fix it. No matter how jealous he was of her, he could never live with himself if that got her hurt. 

Minutes passed in darkness and thoughts of Jane turned into thoughts of their older brother, fighting on the Continent. Rupert, injured early on in the war had been healed in Fillory, and yet he determined to return to the front. 

While Martin cowered, his brother fought against tyranny. No wonder he had become a victim in a place that was supposed to be home. Christopher Plover wanted to break him. Not intentionally. Martin could see, every time that camera came out of its box, that his guardian had no clue of the damage he was doing. It didn’t make it any better, or forgivable. It just made Martin angrier.

In the corner of his eye, Martin noticed a flickering light. A match lit in the dark. Eerie shadows cast a haunted look over the face of a young boy. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have thought the boy was George, the housekeeper's son. A sickening fear buried itself deep in Martin’s chest. When Plover was done with him, as he surely would be as his childish frame eventually grew into itself, George could take his place.

The match burned down to the boy’s fingertips and he squealed in pain. After that there was no more light; no one else had anything to burn. 

Shrouded in the pitch black nothingness of the basement, Martin considered what he could do to be like Rupert. There were things he could do to fight his war at home and protect those vulnerable. It was already too late for him, but it wasn’t too late to save others. Only, as himself, Martin was useless. He was scrawny and weak; Jane could beat him in an arm wrestle. To win the battle, he needed weapons, he needed training and strength. 

Martin needed Fillory. Even if Fillory had abandoned him, it hadn’t abandoned Jane. If he could just follow her through—trick Ember and Umber into letting him in, he could become what he needed to be to stop Christopher Plover forever. 

A light shone down as the trapdoor opened. The man that shoved him inside gave the all clear. Martin wandered outside with his hands in his pockets and his head held high. No bombs had landed on the town, only a bombshell in his mind. Across the street, Jane exited her favourite sweet shop and passed a telephone box. The red wood and glass door opened and Martin knew it was his chance. His last chance. 

Two strangers followed Jane before him, but without knowing it, they kept the door open just long enough for him to slip inside. 

Martin was back in Fillory, and he wasn’t leaving until he was strong enough to win his war.

**Author's Note:**

> The aircraft mentioned was used in bombings on the English mainland at the time, and a boy of Martin’s age would have memorised the shape from newspaper posters.


End file.
